


Just like kids

by Fleur_de_Violette



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Even if he doesn't want people to know about it, Fluff, Gen, Hiding an injury, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Jason Todd is a good brother, More comfort to come in the next chapters, Sick Dick Grayson, Sick Tim Drake, Sickfic, Some Humor, Some angst, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-27 15:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30124827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fleur_de_Violette/pseuds/Fleur_de_Violette
Summary: The mission was supposed to help Tim and Dick rebuild their bond. Yet it went to hell so fast, and they’re left to pick up the pieces.Tim is capable, no matter what Dick seems to think. He can get them both out of danger. He’s not a kid.But sometimes he feels like one.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 14
Kudos: 119





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, welcome to this three-chapter fic! I started it a while ago and thought I would never finish it, so I scavenged some of the ideas in there for other fic. So, if it seems repetitive with my other stuff I’m sorry. 
> 
> I hope you’ll enjoy the story.

“We’re getting out of here!”

Tim grunts. He hasn’t gathered all the evidence he needs yet. He starts moving toward the facility. 

“Hold on, I still need to-” 

A strong arm puts itself around his chest, and he struggles in Nightwing’s grip, his partner of the night screaming in his ears. 

“Red, this whole place is gonna blow up, we have to-” 

He’s cut short by the place doing exactly that. For a second the world shuts down to a mess of heat and sound, and Tim is left on the ground, ears ringing, eyes crying, and feeling dizzy. He doesn’t have time to regain his bearing before a hand takes his arm and drags him inside some kind of hole. He slips and slides, until he reaches dirty water. There, he can take some time to clear his head. He’s in the sewers. Great. 

Beside him, Nightwing falls, then leans a second on the wall. There is a noise above them, probably a second explosion. His case is toast, in every sense of the terms. He grits his teeth. 

“These guys will be walking free!” he says to no one in particular. 

“Yeah, what the hell was that?” his brother responds, visibly upset. 

“What?” 

“Running into the place we knew there was a bomb? That was reckless and-” 

And Tim is tired, he just heard his whole case crumble above his head, so he cracks, and he yells, “I’m not taking a lesson on recklessness from _you_ of all people!” 

And obviously, because this is how their family works, Dick yells back, “Yes, you are! When we’re working together, I expect you to-” 

“You expect me to… what?! Obey your every order without question and listen to your lectures?! Do you know who you sound like right now?!” and Dick must know, because his face freezes. “Well newsflash, _Dick_ , you’re not Batman anymore, and you’re certainly not Bruce. So you don’t get to say this kind of thing.” 

And maybe this is a low blow, hitting on his big brother’s insecurities like that, on that name he’d taken reluctantly and yet struggled to give back. But it seems to work, because Dick recoils, and Nightwing takes over, professional. 

“We should move.” 

They should. The water is just below their hips, and it’s steadily rising. Heavy late winter rain had been falling all day, showing no sign of stopping. The Gotham sewer system isn’t the best there is, and if they don’t want to end up drowning in dirty water, they need an exit. Fast. So, Tim cracks a glow stick and starts walking. 

As he makes his way in the water, Tim tries to think about the layout of the city, the fastest way home. He tries not to think of what kind of stuff he’s walking on. About the diseases, the dead and live rodents. He tries not to think about his brother behind him. About how he accepted Nightwing’s offer to help on his case like the peace offering it was. About how everything went to hell so quickly. 

The water is around their waists when he hears the first splash behind him. When he turns around, he sees Dick leaning on a wall, soaked wet from head to toe with sewer water. His brother waves him off. “I’m fine, just tripped.” 

Come to think of it, Dick does look tired, like he’s barely keeping up with Tim’s pace. Well, tough. Tim is tired, too, and if his brother is upset by what he said, he doesn’t plan to apologize. He was out of line, but so was Dick. So, he just keeps moving. He hopes they will be out soon; despite the costume’s layers, he’s freezing in the sewer. 

There is still no sign of the exit and Tim wonders again how far it could be when the water reaches his chest. He’s pretty sure he didn’t take a wrong path, but he still hopes Dick would correct him if he did. That’s when he hears the second splash. He stops, sighs and turns around. 

There is no sign of Dick.

If there is one thing Red Robin knows how to do, one thing Tim knows how to do, it’s to keep his emotions at bay long enough to fix the situation at hand. 

He’ll panic later. 

He’ll blame himself later.

For now, he just dives. 

The light made by his glow stick isn’t optimal, and neither are the lenses of his cowl for underwater vision. But it doesn’t take long for him to find Nightwing, half floating, unconscious. It’s not hard to find out why, either: his right thigh is surrounded by a red cloud of blood. As he approaches, Tim can see a piece of something that looks like metal sticking out of his leg. 

He doesn’t let himself panic yet. He doesn’t let himself think of _how long_ and _blood loss_ and _infection_ and _why didn’t I notice_. He hauls his brother out of the water and keeps him upright as Dick convulses and cough sewer waters and doesn’t think of _near drowning_ and _there are probably all kinds of poisons in this water_. 

Because he needs to stay calm and collected as Nightwing’s eyes flutter open and _thank god_. 

“You have a piece of metal in your thigh.” And he hates that it sounds like a reproach. Petulant. Like Damian. Like a child.

Don’t panic. Not now. 

“When?” he whispers, and Dick smiles at him, recognition in his eyes.

“During the explosion.” 

Tim feels his heart sink. Fuck. “It’s my…” 

A cold hand finds its place on his face. “Timmy no. It was an accident. Enough of us have gone down this road. Don’t go there.”

Right. Now is not the time for self-loathing. “We should get moving.” 

He takes Dick’s arm, Nightwing’s arm, because right now he needs to be calm and detached. He needs to be Red Robin. He grips Nightwing’s arm tight and start walking with difficulty. The other hero stumbles a few times and breathes deeply, but, to his credit, he doesn’t pass out again. 

The need to get out is more pressing now, and the exit is still nowhere to be seen. Tim taps his comm and, as expected, he only gets static. He’s truly and utterly alone with Dick. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dick stays silent. 

“I’m not a kid anymore. You don’t need to spare me things.” 

After all, hadn’t Dick made that clear when he stripped him of Robin? 

There is a hitch of breath in his ear. “I know, Timmy. I don’t know why I did that. There was nothing to do about it. I just… I don’t know.” 

They walk in silence after that. 

Finally, finally, when the water is almost at their necks, the exit shows itself. Tim could cry. Instead, he makes a decision. “We’re gonna swim to the ladder. I can drag you, but I need you to take a deep breath, ok?”

Dick nods. This is risky, but they’re not going to make it by walking, so they don’t really have a choice. Tim takes a breath and dives into the dirty water for the second time.

He holds Dick’s arm and swims all he can until finally, he reaches the comforting touch of rusty, cold metal. He places his feet and the hand not holding Dick on it and pulls, carrying his weight as well as his brother’s. 

One step. 

And then another. 

And then another. 

They’re gonna make it.

To his credit, Dick tries his best to hold his weight, climbing the ladder the best he can with two limbs, injured leg dangling uselessly behind him. Still, when they reach the top, Tim is exhausted. He sits on the ground, not caring about being in a puddle or about the rain still falling. A little more or less water won’t make a difference anyway. Beside him, Dicks curls up on the ground and stops moving. All his reserves seem to have been worn out, too.

Tim sends a distress signal with his location before shaking his brother.

“Hey! Don’t fall asleep.” 

There is no answer. He shakes a little harder. 

“Dick? Dick come on, give me something.”

Still nothing. 

And there, under the rain, in the middle of Gotham, Tim allows himself to panic. 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s fine. 

It’s okay. 

Dick is gonna be okay. 

_That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck_ , thinks Tim as he readjusts the huge blanket Bruce gave him on his shoulders.

After their rescue, he’d let Alfred force him into taking a warm shower and some tea, and Bruce had rolled him into one of the thickest blankets in the manor. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, he hadn’t protested the least when Alfred took him to check any injuries. 

It was only after that that he learned Dick would be fine, that he’d woken up shortly after their arrival in the cave, had had blood forced back into his veins, and was now on a steady drip of antibiotics to fight the infection developing in his leg. But overall, Alfred and Leslie were pretty confident he would make a full recovery. 

Tim was ready to refuse to go to his room. Neither Bruce nor Alfred had asked him to. So here he sits, rolled in his blanket, watching his big brother chest’s rise and fall.

Like a child. And despite his earlier protestation, he does feel like one.

“You look like shit, Boy Wonder.” 

He raises his head to see a familiar face. “Steph. What are you doing here?” 

She’s wearing her Batgirl costume, cowl down. Her hair is slightly damp, but everything indicates that her night was better than his.

“I came for the huge bath in the main bathroom,” she says with a grin. She then approaches him and puts her chin on his head, an affectionate gesture he’s not sure he deserves. “No, seriously, Oracle told me what happened. Are you okay?” 

It sounds unnatural. She’s bad at it. They all are. Her hair tickles his face. It’s cold, but it makes him feel a little warmer. He smiles. “Go take a bath.”

“Go get some sleep,” she says in the same tone. And there it is.

“I’m not leaving.” 

“I’m not suggesting you do.” She points at the cot Dick is resting on. “Plenty of space here.” And like that, she’s gone.

He realizes she’s not wrong. He would never admit it for his life, but Steph is often right. 

So, he climbs in the bed next to Dick. His brother immediately and unconsciously cuddles him, enveloping him in his too-warm arms.

Tim lets himself fall asleep in the warmth.

* * *

Tim wakes up coughing. 

The first thing he realizes when he catches his breath is that Dick is still asleep near him, snoring slightly. The second is that he feels genuinely miserable. He’s congested and achy. It seems that Dick isn’t the only one who brought part of the sewer with him. 

A large hand finds its way onto his forehead and he instinctively leans into it. 

“You’re awake?” he recognizes the gravelly voice of Bruce and slowly sits up on the cot.

“Yeah, just, give me a second.” 

He sneezes, and a box of tissue appears in front of him.

“Let’s have Alfred look at you.”

Bruce’s voice is surprisingly kind. The close call of the night before might have affected him. Despite popular belief, it’s not every day he gets a distress signal. And Tim can only imagine what was going on in his head when he saw one of his children unmoving and the other freaking out.

“It’s probably just a cold,” he says, voice low. 

“We’ll let Alf be the judge of that, alright?” 

And Tim can say no to the Bruce who orders, he can say no to Batman, but he can’t say no to this voice. He can’t refuse Bruce when he demands. None of them, not even Jason, can.

So, he lets Alfred take a sample of blood, listen to his lungs and heart, take his temperature, and finally let him go with firm orders of rest and to tell him if he starts feeling worse. Overall, his surrogate grandfather confirms what he thought. It’s not bad, per se, but Bruce tends to worry. Tim can’t say he really blames him.

The man is still with Dick when Tim comes back to the cot area. He’s removing sweat plastered hairs from his forehead until his oldest, still asleep, makes a weak sound of disagreement and turns away. Bruce just stays there, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, before he notices Tim. 

“You’ll be more comfortable in your room,” he says when his third son falls heavily on the chair next to him. 

And he must know his chance of winning this one is higher than last night because Tim actually hesitates. Not because of the comfort, the chairs in the med bay are ok, Alfred made sure of that. But because he’s sick, and maybe staying around his brother who is recovering from blood loss with an infected wound isn’t the best idea. Eventually, he concedes.

He takes an ugly hoodie with colorful unicorns that, given its size, was either gifted to Bruce as a joke, gifted to Jason as a joke or bought by Jason as a joke. Anyway, it’s warm, so he puts it on and snuggles in his blankets with his laptop and about every box of tissues of the manor. Alfred brings him herbal tea and soup, even though it’s probably way past noon.

At some point in the afternoon, there is a knock on his door and, without waiting for his answer, Cass comes in, socked feet as silent as always on the floor. She sits next to him and takes his laptop, slapping his hands when he tries to get it back. 

He watches her open the files on his current case, squinting at them, and then transferring them all to a USB stick. At his questioning glance, she just holds the stick in front of him. “Stephanie,” she says.

Oh. Right. She wants to take over the case, but she’ll have trouble reading his files. Steph won’t have that kind of issue. 

“Be careful,” he says, resigned. 

She smiles, punches his shoulder gently. “Always.” 

She then puts the laptop away with a look that shows him it isn’t negotiable. She takes her phone out of her pocket. “Want to hear a book?”

He’s confused by the question. Cass still has trouble with reading, especially out loud. He nods anyway. If she’s confident enough to offer, he won’t stop her.

She clicks on an app and puts the phone on the nightstand. A voice starts to talk, and everything makes sense. He doesn’t know who introduced Cass to audiobooks, but it was a great idea. A way for her to enjoy literature without getting frustrated. 

Tim lets himself drift, comforted by the narrator’s voice and his sister’s presence.

When he wakes up, he’s alone. It’s dark outside, but a glance at the clock informs him it’s still too early for patrol. Cass probably had other things to do. He can’t help feeling a little disappointed, though. Her presence was nice.

He’s sitting up in the bed, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake out the last bits of sleep as well as to decrease the headache that comes with clogged sinuses when he jumps at the sound of a loud, very loud sneeze from somewhere in the corridor. He doesn’t have time to think much about it before the door opens, without a knock this time, and Dick stumbles in.

“Heard this place was the tissue temple.” 

His brother looks genuinely terrible as he limps into the room and blows his nose noisily. His breathing is heavy, and his eyes are bloodshot. Tim assumes he must look only marginally better, but still. 

“Did I… did I make you sick?” 

That has Dick stopping in the middle of throwing the used tissue in the pile that is already in the trash can. He groans. 

“I think that is more due to the fact that we were under the same rain, in the same sewer water.” 

He walks up to the bed. 

“Is that Bruce’s?” he asks, pointing at the hoodie, before face planting onto the bed. Tim just shrugs. 

The thought of the hoodie makes him realize that his brother is still wearing the clothes he had this morning in the med bay. There is a tiny red dot in the crook of his arm, like the IV was removed but no one put a bandaid on it. This, more than anything, makes Tim realize that his brother probably sneaked out. 

“Does Bruce know you’re here?” 

Dick gives him what he probably thinks is a winning smile and winks, putting one finger to his lips.

And obviously, this is the moment the door opens to a very angry Bruce Wayne. Jason is behind him for some reason, with a bowl of what looks like carrot sticks in his hands and a large smile on his face. He seems to find the whole situation hilarious. 

“Which part…” Bruce takes a deep breath. He’s in the sort of state where he’s exasperated but tries not to show it too much. He’s not very good at it. “Which part of _‘I’m coming back in five minutes, stay here’_ do you not understand?” 

Dick doesn’t seem to mind the reproach, looking straight at Jason. “Traitor.”

This might have been more impressive if Dick hadn’t followed the accusation by a loud sneeze and a low whine. Bruce seems to take pity on him and cuts his rent there, instead fishing a plaid blanket Tim didn’t know he had out of the closet and rolling it around his eldest’s bare arms. He puts one of his hands behind Dick’s back and for a second Tim wonders if he’s gonna carry him. But he just stands both of them up and gets out of the room slowly. Dick is still pouting but isn’t resisting, and Tim thinks he probably ran away from Alfred’s checkup out of principle more than anything. 

Jason stays at the door and watches them go while eating carrot sticks, like it’s some new show or something. He then enters the room. 

“Oh, that’s mine,” he says, pointing at the hoodie, which…okay. 

“What are you doing here?” Tim asks. 

His brother points a carrot stick toward him. “I came to laugh at you, of course.” 

The carrot stick is moving in front of his face, and Tim knows that the second he makes a move to grab it, it’ll disappear. He’s usually confident enough to test his speed and agility against Jason, but right now he knows he would lose. “I stopped by last night and I stayed for the drama.”

Tim coughs into his elbow. “There is no drama.” 

The stick is making a huge spin, and maybe the only drama is the one Jason is making with vegetables. “The way you and Goldie were last night? I’m no Cass, but I’m no idiot, either, when it comes to reading people. There will be drama, Timbo. And I’m not part of it, so I intend to be there for every single bit of it.” He ponders the last sentence with the stick, as if he’s the conductor of an orchestra. People often say Dick is the theater kid of the family, but they’re wrong. It’s Jason. 

Tim sighs, and discreetly picks a carrot stick out of the bowl. Jason makes a growl of frustration and Tim chuckles. 

He wonders when it became easier to talk to Jason than Dick. At what point he started being more at ease with the man who tried to kill him than with the one he considered his big brother even before they were legally tied. Maybe it’s because of this. Since his resurrection, he’d never put Jason on a pedestal. That makes it harder for him to disappoint him. 

“What’s going on in that big head of yours, Timmy?”

And, whoa. Not only had Jason stayed to hang out, but he’s playing big brother too? He must really be in a good mood. Tim takes a breath to answer but coughs instead, one hand flying over his mouth. When he can talk again, the only thing out of his mouth is, “It was my case. It was my plan.” 

Jason puts a hand on his shoulder. “Which he agreed to. Don’t make things more complicated than they are. You feel bad? Talk to him.” 

Tim smiles. “Did you just give me good and kind advice? What happened to you?” 

That earns him a flicking on his head. “You know what. Fuck you. I’m done being nice.” There is no animosity to Jason’s tone. He takes his carrots sticks and walks out, but Tim knows he will be back if he ever needs him. 

He doesn’t have the time to be alone, though. The second after Jason closes the Door, Dick limps in, a smile on his lips.

“I escaped,” he says proudly before almost falling on the desk, and then using said desk to resume his previous place on the bed. 

Predictably, Bruce isn’t far. He enters the room with boxes of medicine in one hand and a pair of crutches in the other. He looks pissed. He plants himself in front of the bed, looking even taller than he is. Dick tries to smile innocently as a peace offering. Needless to say, it’s not working.

“You know what? You’re gonna stay here.” Bruce sighs “I trust the two of you to both be the reasonable one and make sure the other doesn’t go wandering around in the manor.” Which Tim thinks is unfair because he’s been really serious and took it easy all day. This time. 

Bruce shakes the meds in his hand before putting them in the nightstand. 

“This is what keeps you out of the med bay. You will take them. And these-” he shows the crutches. “-are to be used if you absolutely _have_ to move. I don’t want to see you walking on that leg anytime soon.”

“I can walk on my hands,” Dick objects. 

“Not with a 102 fever you can’t,” Bruce says before realizing his mistake and quickly adding, “This is not a challenge.”

Dick pouts. 

“I have things to take care of. Don’t do anything stupid.”

And with that, he’s gone, and they’re left in uncomfortable silence. Why did Dick even come here of all places? Doesn’t he have other people to bug? Hadn’t he made clear Tim wasn’t his priority all these months ago?

Tim refrains himself from saying these thoughts. He knows it’s irrational, he does. Dick did what he could in a horrible situation, and he knows that. But still. The lack of confidence. The replacement. It hurts. Maybe he’s more at ease with Jason now because he understands how the older man felt toward him. 

Dick stops him from spiraling by answering the question he never asked. He’s got a sixth sense like that. 

“I came because I was worried about you. I heard you scream, last night, but I couldn’t…” he hides his face in the pillow. “Sorry.” 

Something heavy grows inside Tim’s throat, and it’s got nothing to do with illness. Before he can say anything, Dick sits up, feet on the floor, turning his back on Tim. 

“You were right. I’m not Bruce. I’ll never be. I shouldn’t have acted like that. I know how it feels and I shouldn’t have done that to you. I’m sorry.” 

Tim has a feeling that he’s not talking about last night. But there are things he’s not ready to discuss yet, and this is one of them. Instead, he brings the conversation to a slightly more comfortable territory. “That was smart. Putting us in the sewer. That was quick thinking, probably saved our lives…” 

Dick lets out a sound between a laugh and a cough and turns to him. “Timmy, look at us. We’re here, stuck on bedrest by B _because_ I tossed us into that sewer.” 

That makes Tim smile. “It might not have been the best option. But you did what you could. So, thank you. I’m sorry I yelled.” 

Dick falls on the bed next to him, buries his face in the pillow. “I don’t think of you as a kid. You saved my life, too. Tim, you were… you _are_ impressive. You always were, but you grew up so much. You’re amazing, and I know people twice your age who wouldn’t have handled things nearly as well as you did last night.”

Tim doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t think he deserves the compliment. When Bruce found them, he was feeling like a kid. A kid who messed up so badly his brother wasn’t waking up. 

“For the record,” he says, “my original plan wasn’t that great either, considering how it ended up. I’m sorry you got hurt.” 

“I’m okay.” 

“You’re not. B said…” 

His brother waves him off. “B exaggerates. I’m fine.” A playful smile finds its way on his lips. “I’ll be healed before you are, anyway.” 

Tim humph. “I seriously doubt that,” he says, not out of challenge but because, well, he seriously doubts that. 

“No spleen?” Dick points out. 

“Recovering from blood loss with an infected wound on your thigh?” Tim retorts. 

There is also the fact that he’s way better than Dick seems to be. He didn’t have a fever this morning and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have one now. Sure, he’d been recovering slower since the splenectomy, but he knows his own body. Granted he doesn’t do anything stupid, this kind of cold will have him uncomfortable for a few days top. Dick is trying to put up a strong front, but Tim can see the glassy eyes, the occasional shivers, and the way both his legs were shaking when he was upright. 

“Well let’s just-” Dick coughs and Tim winces in sympathy- “Let’s just ask the others what they think of it.” 

He takes his phone and starts taping in the family group chat (which had been called _Wayne kids_ , then _Bat kids_ then _Bats brats_ then _Bats and birds_ and is now apparently named _Gotham’s ducklings_ for some reason.) 

Tim watches in horror as Jason turns the whole thing into a betting competition, and he suddenly realizes this is fun. He’s having fun with Dick, which hadn’t happened since his brother gave up the Batman mantle. 

He missed that, and he curses himself that they have to be sick and injured to get it. 

Barbara sends a message saying it’s stupid to bet on someone’s health. And then another betting on Tim. 

“Traitor,” Dick mutters under his breath. Tim just smiles. 

Tim seems to be the unanimous favorite, until a message saying _I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m with Grayson_ pops in. He’s suddenly reminded of the lack of Damian in the manor. The kid had been on a school trip Dick and Bruce insisted he go on. While reluctant at first, the last time he phoned he seemed to be having fun. Which is good. 

Tim might not like Damian. He might not like the mere concept of _Damian_. But he’s not without empathy. No one deserves to be raised in the League of Shadow. And Damian deserves to be a kid. So, he’s happy the little brother who was forced on him is enjoying being a kid, if just for a week. Dick and Bruce seemed to think that too. 

“At least someone has loyalty,” Dick comments and Tim doesn’t have the heart to tell him that Damian probably hadn’t read the previous messages and wouldn’t have picked Tim over Dick for anything if his life depended on it.

“Well, you’re all wrong,” Dick groans. “I’ll be peachy by tomorrow morning.” 

Tim thinks it’s more for the show than anything else. Dick doesn’t really believe that, nor is he really annoyed. 

* * *

The next morning, Tim wakes up feeling better. He’s not at 100% yet, but he’s definitely feeling better. 

Despite being sure he fell asleep next to his brother last night, his bed is empty of Dick. The crutches had also disappeared, so hopefully Bruce won’t be too mad. 

And maybe, like he said, Dick is all good this morning. Tim knows it’s unlikely, but he’d seen Dick make miraculous recoveries before. God, they’re all gonna look so stupid if he’s in perfect health.

As he arrives in the living room, he never wishes so hard to have lost a bet. 

Dick is curled up on the couch, shivering despite the blanket around him. His injured leg is popped up on pillows, uninjured one tight on his chest to maximize heat. He’s got half a bowl of soup, an empty pain med container and a cup of tea in front of him. Despite that, the pain lines on his face that were almost imperceptible last night had apparently become too hard to hide. 

And he still smiles when he sees Tim. 

“Hi Tim,” he says through chattering teeth. 

He sneezes, his whole body rocking, and his hands go flying to his right thigh. He lets out something between a hiss and a curse as the blanket falls from his shoulders. 

Tim hurries to his side and puts it back. He doesn’t know when he’d became so protective of Dick. Maybe he would feel that instinctive desire of protection toward anyone looking this bad. 

His brother whispers a “thanks” and he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing comes into his mind except _you look like shit._

“Woah, you look like shit, big bird.” 

Trust Jason to take the complicated matters out of his hands. 

He tunes out his older brothers’ conversation as Bruce walks into the room. He’s carrying a laptop and a coffee pot. Apparently, he decided to work from home today. He too chooses to ignore Dick and Jason bickering in the background, instead nodding to Tim. 

“Good morning. Are you feeling any better?” 

Tim nods and sits at the table, taking a cup for himself. Bruce’s eyes are still on him, inspecting. Apparently satisfied with what he finds, he grunts. Then asks.

“Are you staying here today?” 

This is not an order nor an invitation to stay or go. Just a question. And Tim thinks about it. 

Behind him, he distinctly hears Jason saying “I’m not playing board games with you. Entertain yourself.” 

He smiles. 

“I’ll stay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks to JustJellyJackal for beta reading. Next one from Bruce point of view because making Bruce worry is fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, many thanks to JustJellyJackal for beta-reading. Next two chapters will be full of comfort!


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